


Dangerous Game

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A little bit of Daddy kink at the end, Alternate Universe, Assassin Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Fluff, Hannibal is Hannibal, Love at First Sight, M/M, Romance, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, really soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Frederick Chilton hires cruel, cold assassin Will Graham to take out Dr. Hannibal Lecter, the Chesapeake Ripper.  Despite having sworn off all affection and intimacy, Will finds himself immediately fascinated by his latest mark, and the feeling is very mutual.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 337
Collections: When the Cat Met the Mouse





	Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to mewingatmycat on Tumblr for the awesome prompt! ❤️

The funny thing was that up until a few days ago, Will Graham thought only a complete idiot of an assassin would ever fall for a mark. Now, he was confronted with two equally disturbing possibilities: either he was an idiot, or love wasn’t the useless trap he’d always assumed it to be. Maybe not so funny.

It started out so simple: this slimy criminal hospital administrator, Frederick Chilton, had called upon Will’s services to dispose of a fellow psychiatrist who had dealt him, supposedly, ‘grievous wounds of public humiliation.’

“He made me out to be a killer in front of the world, and now he’s going to pay the price,” Chilton had said in that smarmy voice, giving Will the up-and-down look of satisfied appraisal in his office the day they met.

Will knew he looked like what he was: on the one hand, an ordinary, unassuming man who could easily fade into the background and get the drop on a mark before they ever saw him coming. On the other, when anyone took the time to thoughtfully look into his cold blue eyes, they would see the sharp crystal gaze of a true killer. Will didn’t only take lives for profit; he enjoyed his work, greatly. He especially looked forward to orders like this one, which asked for a more gruesome and hands-on approach, as opposed to a quick kill from a sniper rifle at some height and distance. 

He preferred intimacy, the ripe feeling of organs bursting fresh in his squeezing grip, the way a throat felt when he pushed against it until the breathing cut off and his victim stared at him with beautifully hopeless shocked disbelief; a body under his hard-pressing knee, hands feebly trying to fend him off as he overpowered his victim with easy, terrifying grace. 

If you really looked at Will, you’d want to run for your life, and that was just the way Will liked it. He took pride in his own successful life-long campaign to isolate himself from all humanity except for the simple, but profound glory of the kill. No one could hurt him, and if he was ever dumb enough to get close to someone, that’s obviously what they’d do. Will never fit in, ever since he was a kid, he was weird -- too thoughtful, way too emotional and empathetic, too honestly observant (people hated that most of all). A natural proclivity for violence had further shut him down from wanting to interact with those who would find him repulsive for things about himself he could never change.

In a few months, he’d have enough money saved up to take a nice long break for himself, get a cabin up in some remote mountains, adopt some dogs (plenty of affection and companionship, but no judgement and zero chance of rejection: perfect) and disappear until finances again required him to take some jobs. He’d still kill, of course, for the luscious sport of it, but he’d do so on a whim as he pleased, not with any obligation. The no-strings life was calling to him, and the song was sweet. This job would provide a substantial contribution towards the Will Graham Holiday Fund.

Apparently, his latest mark, Dr. Hannibal Lecter had framed Chilton for the notorious Chesapeake Ripper murders, which Chilton claimed Lecter committed himself.

“Well, why don’t you turn the tables, gather some evidence and prove it?” Will asked in his usual detached drawl. 

He prowled Chilton’s office, mentally cataloguing evidence as to the man’s obnoxious personality; the knick-knacks were expensive but ugly, Chilton’s suits much the same and his hair too excessively gelled. There was a certain rotten greed all too obvious in the man’s eyes. Plus, Will had enough acquaintances among the criminal underground to have heard tell the BSHCI was a horror show of cruelly uncomfortable accommodations, manipulative treatment and otherwise neglect. He didn’t like this guy, but the job sounded tailor-made for him.

“Mr. Graham, if it was possible to do that, I’d have done it already,” Chilton claimed, folding his hands neatly atop his desk and attempting to level Will with an exasperated look.

“Does that expression scare your patients?” Will asked, a wry smile barely tweaking his lips. 

Chilton rolled his eyes. “Hannibal Lecter is about as easy to catch and hold accountable to his sins as an eel covered in oil.”

_You kind of remind me of an oily eel, but whatever._

Will shrugged. “If you say so. How do you want me to do him?”

“Painfully,” Chilton answered immediately as hate sparked in his eyes. “He tried to ruin my life, certainly almost destroyed my reputation -- this man is not only my personal nemesis, but a terrifying threat to society as a whole. Who knows how many more victims will fall prey to his disgusting actions?”

Will had read about the Ripper’s crimes, of course, and admired the creative methods, the methodical surgical skills, then the gorgeous artistic tableaus of the corpses. It actually seemed a shame to take a talented artist like that out of the world, but what an exciting challenge, to take on and destroy a truly worthy opponent, a beast, a legend. Will was honored, despite the sniveling fool of a man who had given him the remarkable opportunity -- he would almost have done this job for free.

“So, you want me to take my time, really make him feel every exquisite, agonizing epiphany of pain, as he does to his own victims?” Will inquired, trying to keep his tone casual, although a strange lilt of seductive intrigue had wandered into it. 

“Less with the exquisite, please, Mr. Graham, more emphasis on the agony. Yes, keep him conscious and in completely excruciating misery for as long as possible. It’s what he deserves, after all.” 

Chilton wrote Will a check for half of his exorbitant pay and passed it to the assassin with a look that said he couldn’t wait for Will to be gone, because he was creeping him out. What a feat; Will was rather pleased with himself. Chilton’s hand even shook a little when Will took the check with a knowing smirk.

“You’re right,” Will nodded, slipping the check into his black trousers’ pocket. That’s how he liked to dress, all in dark, muted colors, elegant and sleek, like part of the shadow world he occupied. “He does deserve it.”

Chilton couldn’t understand what anyone with true sadomasochistic leanings and an appreciation for the murderous art would immediately grasp, that to suffer like that in the hands of a skilled master would be the foremost delight, a final elation, the best way to leave this world. But for all his admirable accomplishments and definitely for fucking with this despicable son of a bitch Chilton, Will really thought Lecter did deserve such a lavish end. He looked forward to giving it to him, prolonged and exacting, all night long.

***

Will had told Chilton that Lecter would be dead by the end of the week, but he’d been looking forward to the job so much that he originally intended to do it that very night, at Lecter’s house.

The problem came in when he began his usual routine of watching his mark, creeping around their office, watching them work and interact with others, learning all their habits and weaknesses, the best ways to catch them off-guard, where to find them at various times; all standard routine. It never particularly interested him, but the job would be weaker if he never got to know the victim, it would lack flavor, and when he finally enacted their death, he’d be risking any mistake that might arise from some secret he didn’t know -- if they were a martial arts expert, for example, or had a security system in place he hadn’t seen. 

This time, it was much, much too interesting. Hannibal Lecter was a fascinating man.

First of all, as Will observed from his vantage point across the street in his low-key, forgettable rental car of the week, Lecter had a beautiful, old-fashioned office building. One look at the austere facade made him want to see the inside. He just didn’t expect to feel the same way about the man himself, until Lecter arrived in a shining Bentley and walked with casual elegance to the door of the office building. 

Hannibal was in his late forties or early fifties, tall and broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a debonair blue plaid suit. He had high, regal cheekbones in a handsome face which was even more striking for his brilliant amber eyes and sumptuous lips. As Will peered through his binoculars from a safe distance and zoomed in on Lecter’s face, he thought _damn._

He didn’t find many people attractive and rarely had sex because it was always a disappointment and he could never seem to get what he needed. But one look at Hannibal Lecter sent a thrill down his spine and put a blush into his cheeks, which never happened. What was that all about? Oh well, he reasoned, this would be over before he had a chance to let the ridiculous feeling grow any further.

Will watched patients coming and going for a while, waited for Lecter to leave for lunch, then broke into the office and bugged it with cameras. He spent the rest of the day watching Lecter’s appointments, marvelling at the man’s jaw-dropping, seemingly effortless wisdom as much as his sexy voice in that lush accent, the obviously deadly look of his hands and the glint in his eyes. Staring at the small, green-tinted screen he’d attached to the dashboard, Will kept telling himself he was just concentrating on the work, nothing more. He certainly wasn’t hanging on Lecter’s every word; that would be absurd. So what if the words felt like feathers stroking down his spine? 

He’d already bugged Lecter’s house and spent the evening much the same way, except he shrugged his coat on and crept through the garden in Lecter’s backyard while he watched the video feed on his phone. What a lovely, well-tended garden, lush with fruits and vegetables, especially pretty in the moonlight. He could picture this being a favorite place for Lecter to relax and unwind after a long day at work. Where were these wistful thoughts coming from? 

Will sat on the low stone wall by the tomato vines and watched Lecter making an elaborate dinner for himself, quickly and deftly chopping and arranging, then preparing his ingredients until a masterpiece emerged. Lecter enjoyed a glass of red wine while he cooked, then with great ceremony carried the food into the dining room. And then the therapist sat there and ate it all alone, with equal formality as if it was a dinner party with ten respected guests around his table. Will’s heart sank at the adorable ritual, accompanied by a sad look in Lecter’s eyes even as he clearly savored the rich cuisine. 

After that, Will didn’t have the heart to carry out the job; he decided to watch him for one more day, thinking Lecter was sure to show some annoying quality that would make it easier to dislike and kill him; no one could be this wonderful, after all. How could he have actually found someone who shared his own violent delights and possessed all of these other amazing traits? It was obviously impossible, even preposterous.

Will watched Hannibal go to bed alone that night in a cozy red sweater and striped pajama pants. He went back to his hotel and found he could barely sleep, so it was quite early when he took up his post at Hannibal’s office that morning. The day held a treat for him, because when he followed Hannibal after work, he discovered that this evening the Chesapeake Ripper was going to take a new victim. Everything churning and breaking inside Will got a million times worse when he had the unique and world-changing privilege of watching Hannibal kill. The way he grabbed the woman from behind, held her tight against his strong body while he choked her out, then slowly bled her…

 _God, I wish that was me._ Will sat back in his car, bit his lip and stared at the scene through his binoculars as tingles of pleasure filled his body, fierce, exhilarated heat pooling in his low belly. He moaned as the slightest shift in his seat made it obvious he was getting incredibly hard. Then, with his eyes locked on Lecter, Will fell into a feverish daze, unbuttoning his jeans and releasing himself with his free hand, jerking himself off to a fast and harsh orgasm, spilling all over his hand with no other wish than that Lecter could be the one to lick it all up, then suck Will into overstimulation.

_Fuck, this is totally out of control._

He would kill Lecter this very night, before things spiralled any more.

Back at his house, Lecter calmly placed the organs of his latest victim into the refrigerator, then showered and reemerged looking stunning in a black three-piece suit with a plum-colored shirt. He answered the door when a guest arrived, and much to Will’s chagrin this was apparently Lecter’s girlfriend. One look at the pretty brunette who left a half-interested kiss on Lecter’s cheek was enough to make Will grip the phone so hard it almost snapped in half. He kicked a stone loose from the perfect little stone wall in the garden, who the fuck was that, and how dare she touch his --

_Stop it, Lecter is not your anything._

_Mine._ Will’s heart clutched. He watched Lecter and his very attractive companion enjoying another gourmet meal, and his only comfort was, at least he knew what was in the food and she clearly didn’t. Will wanted the real Hannibal; this _Alana_ only knew the perfect outer facade. How could Will have been so naive as to not see this coming? As if a man like that would be sleeping alone every night, waiting for Will to come along and sweep him off his feet. Laughable.

His stomach twisted with a nauseating lurch as he watched them making love, but then he realized it was no such thing; neither seemed to be actually in love. The whole affair was too politely choreographed, and when he lay beneath Alana, Hannibal’s eyes remained heart-breakingly sad and lonely. Will wanted so much to be the one in bed with him, making him smile, laugh, cry, come so hard as many times as he could make it happen, it would be _amazing_. It would make Will so happy to draw pleasured gasps from Hannibal’s lips, touch, taste and love him, be held by him, hear him say in that thick, beautiful accent, _Will,_ see those whiskey-hued eyes lit up with true bliss. 

He forgot to murder Lecter because he was so caught up in his fucking feelings. He sat there in the garden until he accidentally fell asleep and had to jump the wall when he heard noise in the house the next morning and knew he had to get the hell out of there before Lecter saw him. 

_This is the day,_ Will resolved, infuriated with himself but by no means surrendering his plan. _I’ll kill him tonight. At least we’ll have hours just the two of us, with him in my arms, in my hands. I’ll make the most of it, since it’s the last time I’ll ever see him, the first time he’ll see me._

***

Under normal circumstances, even a sloppy, distracted Will Graham was far too smart to be seen by a mark. However, Hannibal was no average intended victim, and he had been well-aware of the assassin’s presence from the first day he noticed that he was being followed. A feeling of vague amusement had been his only reaction; probably Frederick had hired a killer to exact his revenge, and at some point the assassin would confront him. Hannibal would enjoy a good, probably worthy fight before eventually prevailing, proving to Chilton there really was no defeating him by any means. 

So everything had continued perfectly pleasant, if not particularly exciting, in Hannibal’s life, until the second night, when he finally laid eyes directly on the young man who had been stalking him. He came downstairs while Alana slept, heading into the kitchen to have a glass of water. Groggily, he glanced out the window and happened to catch sight of a shadow in the garden.

In his usual silent way, Hannibal crept into the yard, only to find the single most beautiful person he had ever seen, fast asleep on his garden wall, half-slumped against the tree beside it. He stopped in his tracks and stared, wondering if he was dreaming. It seemed a night of fantastical whimsy; the milky moonlight beamed on an angelic face with long, dark eyelashes, plush lips, and pale cheeks lightly tinged pink. The boy, for he looked at least ten years Hannibal’s junior, and he decided he should like to call him his _boy_ , had gorgeous curly brown hair spilling over his brow and a strong but slender body dressed simply in a black t-shirt and black jeans with an open overcoat.

Hannibal smiled in immediate fondness as his eyes warmed in a way they had not done in many years. He went down on his knees in front of the lovely killer and carefully fastened his coat, hoping he would not catch a chill. Briefly, he touched the boy’s hand and noticed his skin was not cold, to his relief. It was a typical fall evening, crisp but nowhere near freezing, so the boy would be fine if Hannibal left him here, as he must, of course. He wanted to draw the boy into his arms and carry him upstairs to bed; immediately he had forgotten Alana, who was little more to him than a convenient alibi for his crimes. This young man immediately filled his senses with aroused fascination, and he wanted to know what his voice sounded like, as well as the color of his eyes.

As if in answer to a prayer he was far too resentful to ever pose to the heavens, the boy’s eyes fluttered briefly open, gorgeously vivid blue but completely glazed by dreams. He murmured in a manly but sweet voice, with a slight Southern drawl, “Hannibal…”

Hannibal’s heart seemed to stop; helplessly he reached out and trailed gentle fingers across a pretty jaw bristly with stubble. “Yes, I’m here, my dear,” he whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

The assassin was so deep in slumber, he did not stir; he merely let out a contented hum and continued what must be a rare pleasant dream. One look at the boy’s face told Hannibal stories of a long time spent in sadness, a saga he knew too well from his own heart’s restless struggle. He did not quite know how he understood the stranger so well, from these small, stolen glances, only that he knew he was right, the way he knew he was falling in love.

It did not bother Hannibal that the boy had come to kill him; he admired the audacious scheme, and was twistedly grateful to the otherwise despicable Chilton for sending him an angel. He went back inside with a heartfelt smile, leaving his boy to lingering dreams. It would not do to interrupt the assassin’s plan; he would wait for it to unfurl upon him like the sweetest doom, and whether it ended in either of their deaths, or in their living union, Hannibal also did not mind. He hadn’t been this excited since before he could remember, and he slept so fitfully that he was slightly less than his usual coordinated self the next day.

***

So it was that when the assassin snuck up on him in his bedroom the next night, Hannibal didn’t hear him coming. He was so exhausted by the time he took his shower, he almost fell asleep under the soothing hot waterfall, and when he came back into his room, wearing just a white towel around his waist, he was yawning. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” said the sexiest voice Hannibal had ever heard.

He turned from his bureau, where he had been about to take out his pajamas, and saw the killer smiling coldly at him, wearing a black turtleneck, black trousers, and standing in his socks as to be extra quiet, the way Hannibal often did himself when approaching a victim in an indoor setting.

A long, curved dagger lay loosely clasped in one of the boy’s beautiful hands, and Hannibal couldn’t imagine anything better than being choked out or bled dry by those long, pretty fingers, scraped by the callouses on those working-man palms. The boy was rough-and-tumble, a cruel mercenary who fed off of violence, lived for it; but he was so lovely, and there was a true melancholy tinged in bitterness, shining in his eyes. 

“Your eyes are turquoise by the light of the lamps,” Hannibal observed, both wide awake now and showing no surprise at the boy’s presence. “Last night in my garden, they possessed more of a sapphire hue. How like you, to possess chameleon’s eyes. Perhaps they are green in another light, grey sometimes, too. I don’t ever want to be able to predict you.”

“You won’t know me long enough for that,” the boy observed, his brow furrowing at Hannibal’s words. 

The smile faded from the killer’s face as Hannibal stood there, unfazed, nearly naked with his hair still wet from the shower, no weapon to defend himself with against a professional assassin who was preparing to launch himself with knife in hand. The boy did not remark upon Hannibal’s confession of having already seen him, but Hannibal noticed the way it made his jaw tighten slightly that he had slipped up enough to fall asleep on the job. Still, his eyes had softened to Hannibal, just ever so slightly, probably without him realizing it.

“I know how odd it must seem that your reasons for invading my home do not disturb me. But since I intuited your presence in my life, I’ve been lit from within by insatiable curiosity to feel it more, to feel you closer. When I saw you, I could hardly believe my senses; perhaps I lost my sense. You’re beautiful. Please, may I be so bold, before you attempt to take my life in accordance with Frederick Chilton’s contract, as to ask your name? Let me know who has finally provoked me to feel love, before I lose my chance to feel anything at all.”

“It’s Will,” the boy blurted, thunderstruck but doing his best to remain cool. His grip shifted on his knife, and he stepped closer with a warning glare, filled with conflicted energy; sexual tension burned hot between them as they scented each other. 

Hannibal breathed in a regrettably cheap aftershave, but underneath that an intoxicating natural body heat and the scent of arousal mixed with fear and anger; Will took in the smell of Hannibal’s masculine, spicy bath soap still lingering on his damp skin with an involuntary flare of his irises. Hannibal was just a couple of inches taller, but more broadly built; he admired the slim lines of Will’s figure and how his snug clothing flattered him, and Will’s eyes raked greedily over his hairy chest and the small curve of his stomach; his strong biceps and forearms, then back up to the wanton desire in his cinnamon eyes.

“Will Graham,” he breathed, almost a sigh, too ragged to be only the exhilaration of how soon he was going to take Hannibal’s life.

“Very well, then, Will Graham. How sweet your name tastes on my tongue.”

“Are you trying to _charm_ me out of killing you?” Will cocked his head to one side, relying on a condescending chill in his tone to try and evade any more tender inclination (a trick Hannibal knew all too well, as he used it anytime he felt slightly _emotional,_ rare as those occasions were until very recently).

“Are you trying to kill me so charmingly that I don’t mind it in the least?” Hannibal retorted.

“I’m trying to stop all this pointless procrastination and do my job.” Will’s smirk faltered when Hannibal took his wrist, lifting the knife to his heart and caressing the back of the boy’s hand.

“Have at it, then, my dear.”

“Stop _calling_ me that,” Will groaned. 

“How can I help it? You are divine. Hasn’t anyone told you?”

“Of course not,” Will snarked. He rolled his eyes and lowered the dagger, then sat down on the bed in a huff. “I’m weird. People have never liked me; I’m eerie and unpleasant--”

“Do you let people close enough to see the real you?” Hannibal inquired softly. He sat down beside Will, testing the strength of the knot he’d used to secure the towel around his waist; it loosened but held. Will’s gaze flickered to the towel, then back up to Hannibal’s intent expression.

“Of course not, that sounds terrible.” Then to Hannibal’s enchanted surprise, the boy’s face lit up and he let out a musical laugh. Hannibal laughed as well, a husky chuckle that held such affection, it once again took him by surprise. 

“I see you,” Hannibal smiled.

“Come on, you have a girlfriend; I’ve seen _her_ , she’s gorgeous. You have a good life here, and you could give me a run for my money in the fight we’re inevitably about to have. You’re formidable, Dr. Lecter. What the hell do you need with the likes of me, and why would you risk your own safety--”

“I don’t love her,” Hannibal cut him off, identifying the important part of Will’s sentence and setting aside the rest of it for the distraction it was intended to be. “I love you.”

“Love,” Will scoffed. “First of all, love is a nonentity. It was invented by greeting card companies, and people just use it as an excuse to abuse each other. Secondly, you don’t even know me.”

“I want to.” Hannibal touched his hand over the knife, which Will now held planted to the bed. “You have me under your spell, sweet boy.”

“I’m not sweet,” Will said weakly. “And I’m thirty-fucking-seven.”

“My boy,” Hannibal repeated, tenderness written across his face. 

Will bit his lip and his eyes were all together too moist for the occasion. “Stop that.”

“Should I?” Hannibal asked, brushing curved fingers over Will’s cheek.

“Y-yes,” Will stammered, leaning into his touch. 

He let go of the knife and Hannibal grabbed it, then flung him onto his back and straddled him, pressing the sharp tip right to Will’s carotid artery.

“You hesitated,” Hannibal murmured, staring into his eyes, falling deeper against him, pinning Will down under his body weight as much as his gaze.

“I want you,” Will admitted when Hannibal moved the knife back to let him speak. “If you need me to admit it, there you go. I’ve been watching you for days, and you fascinate me; I admire you, I’m attracted. I like you, and I don’t like anyone.” He gulped as Hannibal used the knife to gently stroke a loose curl back from his brow. “But that’s all it is. I don’t believe in love.”

“Would you let me try to show you that love exists, that I feel it for you?” Hannibal’s smile turned sad, the feeling resonating through his throbbing heartbeat. “It might require you to stop finding yourself so loathsome and unlovable. I know that won’t be easy.”

“I don’t…” Will turned his face away, smothering a sob. “I’m fine, I don’t need anybody, not even you.”

“Is that a no?” Hannibal asked. He moved as if to climb off of Will. “If so, you may have your weapon back, and have at me as well. I’ll put up a fair fight, as I can sense that’s your preference.”

His persistence in trying to please Will appeared to be creating another chink in the beautiful assassin’s armor. 

“It’s not a no,” Will sighed. He tugged Hannibal’s towel off and tossed it to the floor, then grabbed his face and pulled him into a hot, passionate kiss.

Hannibal knew, in his dizzy bliss, the feeling of those gorgeous, perfect lips pressed to his own, the hammering of his heart and the skyward ascent of his soul, that this probably wouldn’t last. Will would either kill him or run from him, at any moment. But to have this, if only for a few moments, was a happiness he had never fathomed.

“God,” Will whispered between kisses, “I really do want you.” 

He licked into Hannibal’s mouth and they savored each other, tangling their tongues, biting and sucking at each other with long, attentive kissing that rose steadily in aggression until the tension broke over them like a wave.

Will had one hand in Hannibal’s hair, tugging at the silky, wet strands as he groped the older man’s ass, groaning at the feel of his naked body atop his own clothed one. Hannibal rubbed his urgent erection against Will’s thigh and the boy’s pretty eyes rolled back as he moaned, “I need you inside me.”

“And you don’t need anything,” Hannibal smiled, incredibly honored. “Let me make you feel good, Will, please.”

“Yes,” Will gasped, plucking haphazardly at his own clothing. 

Hannibal set the knife on the side table, leaving it well in reach if the boy wished to kill him during their encounter; that was another very enticing option. What more could life have to offer him, if it didn’t involve Will? If the boy should feel Hannibal’s love poured out and still choose his stubborn solitude, Hannibal would much rather die than live without him.

Will pulled him back with a desperate grasp, and Hannibal smoothly undressed him, setting aside the boy’s trembling hands. 

“Look at you,” Hannibal sighed, grazing his hand softly down Will’s neck, over his ravishing body, revelling in the smoothness of pale chest over pounding heartbeat, and soft, vulnerable stomach where Will’s breath caught at his touch. 

As his eyes flicked down to feast upon the sight of Will’s cock, thickly curved against his stomach, Hannibal’s heart thudded faster. His boy was luscious in every detail, head to toe; he would devour him slowly, with ecstatic delight.

“You hurt people so savagely, I can’t believe this is how you would choose to touch me.” Will looked at him in bafflement.

“I’ll hurt you, too, my darling, but only to give you pleasure.” Hannibal’s eyes sparkled, and Will blushed deeper.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Will blurted.

Hannibal shot him a coy look.

“I mean,” he blushed, “I know _how to do this_ , but I _feel_.” He blinked back tears and looked at Hannibal as if begging for cosmic resolution. “Hannibal, I feel.”

“So do I, my darling. So very, very much.” He rubbed his thumb over Will’s already kiss-swollen lower lip, then added with a twinge of unheard-of sentiment, “It’s a strange place to be, isn’t it?”

Finally, Will cracked a smile, and the sight felt like sunshine drenching Hannibal’s soul. “The strangest.”

“Just lie back and relax, sweetheart,” Hannibal smiled back, and Will looked slightly mortified. “Accept that I wish to make you the center of my universe for the evening. Please.”

Will closed his eyes and let out a long exhale, trying to center himself. Hannibal began placing soft, fluttery kisses all over him, from the top of his head all the way down to his toes. For each gentle first kiss he laid while caressing with his hands everywhere except his aching cock, Hannibal followed up quickly with a harder kiss, then in certain key areas -- Will’s neck, biceps and thighs, he bit and sucked claiming marks while Will shivered and clung to him, begging for more. The older man could tell Will was only able to endure this outpouring of love because he kept his eyes shut, and he made it his goal to get the boy to stare directly into his eyes as he came, not only to acknowledge who gave him this pleasure, but to believe he deserved it.

“Spread your pretty legs for me, dearest,” Hannibal purred, and Will moaned, opening his legs generously as Hannibal slid a pillow under his ass and set about eating him out with long, slow, savoring care.

“Jesus...fucking _Christ,_ ” Will gasped. “Oh, God, that feels-- please, please…”

“Yes,” Hannibal smiled indulgently, licking his lips. He sucked Will’s balls with that same languorous, wet, messy delight, then set about fingering him carefully with lube-wetted fingers while he sucked his beautiful, pre-cum dripping cock. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Will whimpered, “Hannibal.”

“Yes?” Hannibal asked, rising up to look at his reddened face, the way sweat had matted shining curls to his forehead, the way Will still had his eyes squeezed shut in shame for begging Hannibal to keep giving him pleasure.

“Yes, Hannibal.” Will blinked, then gave him a lucid, defining, full-on look with serious blue eyes. “Yes.”

He tumbled his would-be mark over gently, making them both chuckle. Then he showed Hannibal just as much care as he had been given; he found and kissed every sensitive place on the older man’s body, noticing that his nipples were very responsive and using the fact to make Hannibal moan raggedly. 

“My Will,” Hannibal sighed as Will sucked and bit at his hard nipples while using a hand moistened with lube and Hannibal’s precum to stroke his big, painfully alert cock to an even more severe state of arousal. His flesh was burning hot and weeping in Will’s grip, his silky foreskin shifting up and down as Will jerked him. Finally, Will lowered his lips to take Hannibal’s cock into his mouth, immediately sucking his cheeks tight and deep-throating him, doing everything in his power to drive Hannibal out of his mind with pleasure.

It worked; Hannibal’s vision nearly went blank as he immediately felt his body urging him towards an orgasm he did not want to give into so soon. The bliss inside him was so powerful that he could not even imagine how much more joy he would feel when seated deep inside his lovely boy. 

“Please,” he managed to blurt, shocked at how the tables had turned; now he was the one totally undone and losing his grip on reality and common sense -- he was weak for Will, all his smugness destroyed by his own experience, finally, of being truly made love to.

He said, “ _I don’t want to come yet, let me fuck you first, darling,_ ” and Will looked at him in puzzlement, pulling his reddened lips off of Hannibal’s cock with a loud, saliva-soaked pop. 

“Huh?” he rasped with a wrecked throat. 

Hannibal caressed his face, even more aroused that his boy had been so intense when showing him affection, so _desperate_ to taste him and make him feel dizzy with euphoria. It meant so much, coming from this man who had insistently cut himself off from all human emotion and substantial interaction, who carried secret hatred for himself as an old wound, most likely carried around since a damaged childhood left him to feel pathetically unworthy, disgustingly bizarre and not made for this world. 

“You spoke in another language,” Will grinned, smiling with teeth for the first time that Hannibal had been lucky enough to witness. 

Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, your mouth, capable of such wonderful mischief, and such beautiful smiles. I must have slipped into my native tongue; I’m afraid you’ve stripped me of all logic, dear boy.”

“Good,” Will grunted, grabbing the lube with another happy glint of mischief in his bright eyes. He drizzled the lube all over both of them, then carefully sank down on Hannibal’s cock, causing them both to gasp and cling to each other in disbelief at the magical perfection of their joining.

“Oh, mylimasis,” Hannibal sighed, gazing up at him in worship. “Promise you’ll look at me when you come.”

“Promise me the same,” Will demanded, and then he started to move, once again wiping out Hannibal’s ability to think about anything else but their two bodies together and Will’s beautiful face, the sound of his voice gritting out countless moans and exultations, mostly very naughty and ridden with profanities. Hannibal usually despised those who used such crude language, but coming from Will it was very different; the words arose from his inability to form more cogent ones, but more than that, they sounded so dirty and sensuous, he forgot why he had ever found such adjectives offensive.

“So fucking good,” Will groaned, riding him deeper and harder, and Hannibal gripped his back, moaning as his own orgasm tried very hard to roar into completion.

“Please,” he panted, “I won’t last.”

“That’s okay.” Will stopped moving for a few moments, caressing Hannibal’s face with such tenderness. “Really, it’s okay. I want you to. I want to make you come. Let me see you.”

Hannibal nodded, and Will went right back to riding him to his heart’s content, enveloping his thick cock with the velvety-tight grip of his ravishing body. When Hannibal knew he couldn’t possibly hold back another second, he took Will’s cock in hand and stroked him with sloppy but deliberate purpose, so that when they burst it was nearly in unison. They looked into each other’s eyes, crying out hoarsely. He pumped Will’s hole eagerly with his hot seed while Will’s release coated his fingers with sticky sweetness. Hannibal licked up every drop with obsessive care while the sight made Will moan loader and ride out his pleasure with even greater delirium.

***

Afterwards, Hannibal led an incredulous, awkward Will to a luxurious bubble bath, taking the time to massage out all his sore spots from their reckless passion and cleanse him with soap that smelled soothingly of lavender and jasmine. By the time they had dried each other off, never fully taking their eyes off each other, Will thought his body had never felt so relaxed, excessively pleasured and pampered. His heart felt the same way, but his mind was running fearfully behind, caught up in lingering confusion. 

“What now?” he asked as Hannibal helped him into a fluffy bathrobe, then put a second one himself. 

Will smirked, thinking the older man probably had a whole separate closet somewhere filled just with robes in every color and fancy fabric available. The soft material felt amazing against his skin, most of all because it was Hannibal’s and smelled of his sophisticated, comforting cologne.

Hannibal belted Will’s robe with a teasing expression. He was getting such a kick out of taking care of Will, and Will really didn’t know how to ask him to stop -- what if he didn’t want Hannibal to stop, either? 

“Did you eat dinner earlier? It’s past ten now.”

“No, I skipped it. For some reason, I’ve been too nervous all day to eat.”

“Almost as if this was a date, rather than an appointment for murder,” Hannibal suggested, cupping his face fondly.

“I mean...yeah. I’m still going to kill you, I think. Any minute.” He didn’t even know if he meant it; his emotions were running roughshod over his common sense, the part of him still shouting distantly, _love isn’t real, kill him and end this pointless charade!_

Still, the words were feeble. Hannibal chortled. “Would you like your knife back, dear?”

“Don’t make fun,” Will pouted.

“Oh, Will.” Hannibal looked at him discerningly, as if he saw right through Will, saw the injuries left in his pride by years of bullying on changing schoolyards during a childhood spent moving too frequently to ever make friends. “Will. Never. I may couch my words in amused appreciation of your endearing qualities, but it is never mockery. And furthermore if you would still like to have your knife back, I will do my best to give you the fair fight I promised.”

Hannibal’s stomach growled softly and they both laughed. “I confess I might be a bit sluggish until I have a little protein. Might we postpone the battle until after our late dinner?”

“Well, okay,” Will agreed with a smiling groan. He elbowed Hannibal playfully, then took his hand as they went to the kitchen. “If we have to.”

***

“Allow me,” Hannibal suggested, lifting a forkful of chocolate cake across the short distance to where Will sat. They’d immediately dragged their dinner table chairs so close together it was frankly ridiculous, and Will more than kind of loved it.

“Oh, I’m stuffed after that extravaganza of a dinner you just served me,” Will sighed, patting his stomach. “But maybe one bite.” 

He took the morsel of delicious cake into his mouth with a moan of satisfaction. “Why do you have to be a great cook, too? It’s not fair.”

“You deserve everything good I can give you,” Hannibal smiled tenderly.

“Where do you see this going?” Will took a long sip of wine to steel himself to the difficult necessity that was discussing this. “I don’t stay places, Hannibal. I’m a nomad. I don’t want a normal life.”

“Nor do I,” Hannibal said with an elegant shrug. He held Will’s hand and took his own last sip of wine, allowing the flavor to linger in his mouth as he carefully considered Will’s words. Stroking over the younger man’s fingers, he elaborated, “I just want you.”

“You don’t know me. I’m impossible to live with.” Will looked away and Hannibal sighed, tipping Will’s face back to meet his gaze.

“Come back to me, darling. We can go anywhere you like, live as you choose. I’m asking to be your one place. The only place you come back to.”

“You’re putting yourself out on the line for me,” Will said disbelievingly. 

“I love you.” Hannibal swallowed over a lump in his throat as the sight of him so exposed and willing to cross the globe to make this stranger he loved happy broke something deep inside of Will.

He climbed into Hannibal’s lap, wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck and kissed him soundly. “I love you, too. The truth is, I never wanted to kill you even a little. And I want to kill everyone.”

Hannibal grinned like a dork, as Will thought, and it was gorgeous; he had shining fangs that had left delightful marks all over Will’s body. He rubbed Will’s calves and feet, kissed him devotedly. “Come away with me. Disappear with me now, today. It’s a new day, Will, and we’re free. We’ll never be more free than we are right now.”

“What would we do?” Will asked, stroking a loose lock of silvery blonde hair from Hannibal’s brow, tucking it behind his ear.

“You don’t need to work. I’ve plenty of money.”

Will laughed. “Okay, Daddy. What would I do if I wasn’t working?” As if he hadn't been planning on taking a break soon anyway; as if he wasn't exhausted with his life as it had been for too long, cold and joyless. He wanted to hear Hannibal's version of it.

“I’m going to hear you calling me that again in quite a different tone, soon,” Hannibal assured him, and Will gulped, suddenly sure it was true and he had just signed himself up for either the edging of his life or the spanking of it, possibly both -- and it sounded perfect. “At any rate, my dear, you may do just as you like. Have you ever been to Florence? It is a magnificent city, and would look even better covered in the blood with which we would soak it.”

“And we could just...be together? That easy, that simple?” Will chewed his lower lip. He was just now realizing that his life had been something of a punishment he’d leveled at himself for the part of him that cared and wanted companionship; he’d forced himself into solitude so he would always be unable to connect. To indulge in this wild infatuation seemed an impossible feat of bravery, which to him was equivalent to self-love.

“Be a good boy and let yourself be happy, Will.” Hannibal fed him a strawberry and kissed his face until Will was wriggling in over-petted and loved rapture, blushing and giggling. He hadn't realized he could laugh so much, or feel his cheeks blissfully sore from the frequency of his smiles. 

“Okay, okay,” Will relented. “I guess we could be happy together instead of killing each other. If we have to. _And_ if we can have a dog.”

“Of course we can have a dog, darling. We can have seven dogs if you like. And now, is that your way of saying….?”

“Book the tickets, pack us up some things,” Will grinned, kissing his lips merrily. “Then take me back to bed. Daddy.”


End file.
